I walked to the other end of the room. His injuries had spotted his bedding with blood and fluid. I would leave a note asking Ash to bring fresh linens. Then I wondered if the boy could read, and decided it was likely so. Even if his mother had not demanded it of him for her business, Chade would have immediately set him to learning. For now, I turned his pillows and tugged the bedding straight.
“Fitz?” he called from the worktable.
“I’m here. Just straightening your bedding.”
“You’d have made a fine valet.”
I was silent for a moment, wondering if he mocked me.
“Thank you,” he added. And then, “Now what?”
“Well, you’ve eaten and we’ve changed the dressings. Perhaps you’d like to rest some more.”
“In truth, I am tired of resting. So weary of it, in fact, that I can do nothing except seek my bed again.”
“It must be very boring.” I stood still and watched him haltingly totter toward me. I knew he did not want me to offer help.
“Ah, boredom. Fitz, you have no idea how sweet boredom can be. When I think of endless days spent wondering when next they would return to take me, and what new torment they might devise, and if they might see fit to give me food or water before or afterward … well, boredom becomes more desirable than the most extravagant festival. And on my journey here, oh, how I longed for my days to be predictable. To know if the person who spoke to me was truly kind or cruel, to know if there might be food that day, or if I would find a dry place to sleep. Ah.” He had almost reached me. He halted where he was, and the emotions that passed over his face tore me. Memories he would not share with me.
“The bedstead is right there, to your left. There. Your hand is on it.”
He nodded to me, and patted and felt his way back to the side of the bed. I had opened the blankets to the linens for him. He turned and sat down on the bed. A smile crossed his face. “So soft. You’ve no idea, Fitz, how much this pleases me.”
He moved his body so carefully. It reminded me of Patience toward the end of her years. It took him time to maneuver so that he could lift his legs up onto the bed. The loose trousers bared his meager calves and the distorted knobs of his ankles. I winced as I looked at his left foot. To call it a foot was a charity. How he had walked on that I did not know.
“I had a stick to help me.”
“I didn’t speak that aloud!”
“I heard that little sound you made. You make it when you see anything hurt. Nosy with a scratch on his face. Or the time I had a sack put over my head and took a beating.” He lay on his side and his hand scrabbled at the bedcovers. I pulled them up over him with no comment. He was silent for a minute and then said, “My back hurts less. Did you do something?”
“I cleaned out the injuries and put dressings on them.”
“And?”
And why should I lie? “When I touched you to clean the first boil that had broken, I … went into you. And encouraged your body to heal itself.”
“That’s …” He groped for a word. “… interesting.”
I had expected outrage. Not his hesitant fascination. I spoke honestly. “It’s a bit frightening, too. Fool, in my previous experiences with Skill-healings, it took a real effort, often the effort of an entire coterie, to find a way into a man’s body and provoke it to work harder at healing itself. So to slip into awareness of your body so easily is unsettling. Something is strange there. Strange in the same way that it was too easy to bring you through the Skill-pillars. You took back our Skill-bond, many years ago.” It was a struggle to keep rebuke from my voice. “I look back on the night when we came here and I marvel at my foolhardiness in making the attempt.”
“Foolhardiness,” he said softly, and laughed low. He coughed then and added, “I believe my life was in the balance that night.”
“It was. I thought I had burned Riddle’s strength to bring you through. But the degree of healing you already showed when we arrived here makes me wonder if it wasn’t something else.”
“It was something else,” he said decisively. “I can’t claim to know this and yet I feel certain I am right. Fitz, all those years ago when you brought me back from the dead, you found me and put me into your own flesh while you entered my dead body and forced it back into life, as if you were lashing a team to pull a wagon from a swamp. You were ruthless in what you did. Much as you were when you risked all, not just you and me, but Riddle, to bring me here.”
